


The Hidden

by infiniteworld8



Series: The Storeroom [3]
Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Disturbing Themes, Fear, Gen, Hallucinations, Hiding, Holocaust, Survivor Guilt, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteworld8/pseuds/infiniteworld8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dark, the loneliness, can play illusions on the mind, or maybe the spectres of the past are real. Maybe it's punishment for his sins.</p><p> After months of hiding in the storeroom, Max's family pays him a visit...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hidden

* * *

*****A LITTLE KNOWN FACT*****

**It's not living that makes being alive worthwhile**

**It's the life you experience during your life.**

**Sounds confusing? It isn't.**

Days had painted themselves to the wall like some sickly unseen stain. Minutes dripped by silently falling and running away. And the seconds, they were the worst. They scratched at him like the bites of insects gnawing away at body and mind.

Hunger consumed his flesh, reminding him of its presence in every waking moment. Memories seared his mind in unending guilt.

Max crouched in the dark room, silent except for his breathing. He stared into the darkness, unseeing and yet not needing to see. He knew every facet of the small space—ahead was the door which sometime opened allowing light to seep in, and food and water to be brought—to his left was his suitcase, with all his worldly treasures packed tight ready for a new life—to his left was the bottles of water leaning against the wall and the bucket with his own waste. And behind him pillowed under his head was the bag which had once held food.

When he had gone into hiding he hadn't thought this would be his existence. He hadn't thought this would be his life. All he had thought of then was living, saving himself. Even the part of him that had protested against his family's choice for him to be the one to go with Walter hadn't considered what hiding would really mean.

It was months since Walter had first showed him to his hiding place. Months to become used to the darkness, the solitude, the unending waiting—the fear. He hadn't seen daylight in weeks. He hadn't heard the sound of another's voice in days. He should have been used to it all but he wasn't. Each day was like unending torture, hungry cold, alone waiting to be caught and dragged out like vermin—almost wanting to be caught. Anything to relieve the waiting.

*****AN INTERESTING FACT*****

**Human can do something few others can do**

**They create their own paradises and their own nightmares,**

**with their hands, their minds, their bodies.**

**Heaven and Hell are of their own making mostly**

**If they realized this maybe they'd be a little more careful of their creations**

In the dark, he saw a shape. He knew it couldn't be anybody, because he would have heard the door open. But once again the shadow moved solidifying itself into a figure and yet not a figure. The edges were too wispy to be real, too impermanent to be a person.

But the face was the same. Max straightened up. "Mother."

He swallowed sharply as she moved closer and he saw her fully. Her clothes were torn and stained, her face was bruised and silent tears were streaking down her cheeks.

"Please—please." Max whispered the words but they did nothing to stop her slow advance or the cold accusations seeping from her eyes.

She finally reached him and kneeled in front. He gasped as her fingers touched his cheeks, they were icy cold. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I—" Max tried to speak but his mother stilled his words with a finger to his lips.

_Her voice rasped out, harsh and brittle. "Max, you're alive. You're still alive."_

The words weren't what he had been expecting—they weren't what he thought he deserved—but he managed to answer anyway. "Yes, I—I am—are you…?" He faltered and the unfinished question fell from his lips and shattered like a broken promise. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer and yet he desperately needed to.

Vaguely he was aware that his mother couldn't be with him. He was in a deserted storeroom, it was almost pitch black, but that hardly seemed important to him, when he hadn't seen her in months.

_"I'm dead Max."_

"I'm sorry. I should have—"

 _"You shouldn't have left us back there. You saved yourself and now…"_ His mother's accusations faded and she gave him a sad smile. _"This Max—this is what happened."_ His mother drew back, pulling her hand away from his face and allowing it to fall to the side of his neck. As she stood up a light seemed to envelope her. Her eyes bored into his as she spoke. _"This is what they did to me."_

Before his eyes, flames grew at her heels and then consumed her body, they licked her hair ,cascaded down her face, and as he watched the skin begin to melt of her body. The stench of burning flesh filled the room. The heat from the fire scorched him. He gagged, but his stomach was too empty to bring anything up.

As he watched the fire flared up utterly consuming the body and then with one final burst of light it was dark again.

Max remained staring in the dark staring at where he had watched his other die. Tears were dripping down his cheeks, sobs threatened to erupt. But he forced them down; he couldn't allow even the smallest noise to give him away. He couldn't even take that risk of possible detection, because not hiding meant death. And even then the guilt scorched him as he thought of it—he was afraid to die.

_"What are you doing hiding in the dark like an old man?"_

Max turned towards the slightly aggressive voice. "Isaac?"

His cousin was sitting near him cross-legged on the floor. _"So this is what you're doing now? Sitting here waiting for death to come."_

"I—I can't leave I'll—."

_"Be caught? Die like the rest of us miserable Jewish vermin?"_

Max winced at the words. He flinched as his cousin clapped a hand on his back. Isaac was laughing. _"Just joking Maxi—"_ His cousin paused and leaned in closer, his shaggy hair falling into his face. " _Sill though, didn't you always tell me that you wouldn't wait for death to take you that you'd fight him every inch of the way?" His cousin gestured to the dank storage room. "This doesn't look like much of a fight."_

"I—I tried—Isaac please believe me, I asked Walter if there was someone that would take the rest of you in. I didn't want t0 go, you all made me—"

Isaac had turned to stare around the small store room but now his cousin fastened him in a stone-cold gaze. _"We made you Max? We made you? You could have said no, you could have refused to go with Walter. Why didn't you?"_

"Please—Isaac— I did what you all wanted. There was nobody else that would go and—"

His cousin stood up and yelled so loud, the noise hurt Max's ears. _"There was no one else cowardly enough to leave there whole family behind to save their own sin!"_

Max couldn't help it then. A sob shuddered out from him and then another and another. Before he knew it he was openly crying so hard he could barely catch his breath. His cousin Isaac stood above him, staring down disdainfully.

_"Stop this snivelling. You want to see me? You want to see someone who can take anything?"_

"Please Isaac stop, just stop, I'm sorry…I..."

His cousin continued talking like he hadn't heard Max. _"Do you know what I did when they finally came for me? I fought them every step of the way. And when we got to the camps, I didn't stop. I didn't stop right to the end."_ Isaac glared at Max. " _I want you to watch something."_

The cell suddenly grew even colder and a fierce gust of wind blew. Max shut his eyes as the harsh air caused them to water. When he opened his eyes the cell had faded, instead, he was standing in the snow. Ahead of him was a wooden stage with five prisoners being lined up. Their hands were bound and their feet were shackled. As Max watched three soldiers walked into the courtyard, they carried rifles.

Max stared as the prisoners were lead to the wooden stage and shackled in place so they couldn't move. The middle prisoner wasn't staring at his feet like the other four were. Instead he stared straight ahead, defiantly holding the gaze of the three soldiers raising their rifles to shoulder level. With a start Max realized the middle prisoner was his cousin.

A guard came into the courtyard, he stood next to the three rifleman lined up, waiting for the order. The guard directed his words to the prisoners. "DO any of you have any last words?'

There was an exquisite silence and then Isaac spoke up. "I do. You can tell Hitler to _ficken sich_ and go to He—" Isaac's words were drowned out by the order. "Fire!"

Max stared as the bullets slammed into his cousin. Like a hailstorm, they left holes seeping red liquid. As max watched Isaac's body slowly toppled to the ground. It was the last one to fall. Max's heart was hammering in his chest.

_"So, did you learn something?"_

Max jumped as he heard his cousin voice to the side of him. He didn't want to look, he couldn't' take his eyes off the body lying ahead of him, slowly sinking down into a pool of crimson He managed to drag his wyes away and wished he didn't. His cousin was standing in the same clothes max had seen him wearing seconds ago, only now they were riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. A thin line of blood was tricking from his mouth. _"So what did you think Cousin? A spectacular death eh?"_

"I'm sorry. Isaac, I'm sorry."

 _" Don't be sorry Max."_ His cousin grinned up at him, showing teeth glistening with blood. His mouth was overflowing with it. The red liquid spilled down his chin as he spoke. Max tried to shut his eyes, but his cousin voice cut into him forcing them open. _"Look at me Max! Don't you want to be like me? To die like me?"_ He reached out to Max with hands covered in sticky warm blood, Max felt the liquid cover his cheeks as his cousin grasped his face forcing him to watch. _"Go out fighting not snivelling in the corner like a coward. Get one last fight in for me, eh cousin? Make me proud."_

Max wrenched his face away from Isaac's grip, but the lingering feeling of blood remained on his cheeks. Max closed his eyes and when he opened them he was back in the storeroom- his cell- his prison. The air felt stifling hot after the cold winter of the courtyard, and yet Max couldn't stop shivering. His skin was soaked with sweat and vaguely he realized his trousers were partly soaked with something else.

He leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. His hands encircled his knees as he rocked back and forth. He heard a movement to his right but continued holding his eyes shut tightly. He didn't want to see whatever or whoever it was. He felt somebody edge close to him and a hand drifted over his face and skimmed over his face before settling on his arm. It was like somebody was trying to find him in the dark. He shivered violently at the touch, but continued squeezing his eyes fiercely shut.

_"Max?"_

His eyes flew open as he recognized the voice. He knew he shouldn't answer, but he had to. "Sarah."

_"Max, you're here. It's so dark I can't see anything."_

"I—I know." Max whispered the words. He felt the hand on his sleeve clench and then somebody was dragging themselves closer. Max turned away from the movement, he wanted to avoid seeing his cousin for as long as possible.

_"So they caught you too huh?"_

"Yes." The words fell from his lips and for him it was the truth. The ghost—sins—whatever they were had caught up to him. And they were slowly killing him just as any Nazi or concentration camp could.

 _"I—I always hoped you at least would get away."_ His cousin's voice whispered out from the darkness. " _Max, they took my husband. I don't know where. Have you seen him?"_

"No." Max had to choke out the words past the lump in his throat.

 _"I had the baby Max. He was so tiny,"_ Max could feel a shudder and he imagined the tears frowning down his cousin's face even though he hadn't turned to see them. Sarah shifted in the darkness and continued quietly. "As _soon as he was born he reminded me of someone, his tiny fist were flailing, and they pulled him out of me. He never stood a chance, but he was fighting anyway."_

Max longed to tell her to stop, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. What right did he have to silence her or any of them? He should face what he had done. He had to.

Sarah gripped his arm tighter, her fingers were damp and Max could feel he clammy sweat seeping through his sleeve. _"You know who he reminded me of? You know who I named him after? You Max, I thought maybe at least then he would have a chance. Maybe then he would be a miracle, after all you lived out of all of us."_

Here it was –what Max had been waiting for—the accusation. The same one that each and every person had for him. He turned to stare at his cousin and was surprised to see her. It had been too dark only seconds ago. His shock lasted for only a second before it was drowned in horror.

Sarah was sitting propped up against a wall. She was naked, her skin was deathly pale and her stomach was sliced open. Blood was gushing from the hole and metal clamps could be seen on either side holding her womb open. In her arms a tiny still infant was clutched. The baby still was half-covered with blood and a filmy substance.

Sarah stared at Max as she continued speaking, obliviously to the slowly widening pool of blood that both her and Max were sitting in. _"They knew I was pregnant, and a doctor said he had to run a few tests on me. They took me to a room Max, and I was so scared. Then they strapped me down."_

Max now noticed the leather straps fastened to her legs and arms. He could only stare in horror as his cousin continued her story without taking her eyes from his gaze. _"He said it would hurt but it would be over quick and then he cut into me. The pain was so intense—they didn't give me anything for it—I was so worried about the baby and then the doctor lifted him out of me."_

"Please stop—I'm begging you, please."

_"…They didn't care; he was gasping struggling to breath. I knew he was going to die. They let me hold him for one second while they cut the cord and then he was gone…"_

"I'm sorry Sarah, I should have let you go, and instead…I should have made you take my place."

_"…Then they left me there to die, lying there in a pool of my own blood , feeling more of it pour out of me, until I just…slipped away."_

"Sarah, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

His cousin's grip tightened on his arm until it was painful. Her face twisted. _"Forgive you? After what you did?"_ She got to her feet, her womb still gaping open, her body still nude and pale underneath the blood. Max tried to turn away, but couldn't move. He felt like he was rooted in place. As he watched blood washed down his cousin's legs in sheets drenching the floor. The tiny baby she held had limbs dangling limply over her arms. _"You killed us Max; you killed us with your selfishness. You killed us by wanting to save yourself."_

"Sarah, Please."

 _"There is no forgiveness for what you have done Max, you killed us all."_ Sarah bent down and lowered the still baby into Max's lap. Max gagged as the cold limp weight settled on him' Sarah leaned closer until he could feel her breath on his face; he forced himself to meet her eyes. _"Can you forgive yourself for what you let happen to him?"_

Max didn't even try to apologize this time, instead he turned away. Dragging his hand away from where it had accidentally brushed the corpse in his lap. His cousin had faded taking the baby with her. But Max didn't notice, sweat was pouring off him in buckets. He crawled away from where the pool of blood had been in the middle of the floor. He wasn't sure if he was going crazy or not. Maybe those were the ghost of his family. Maybe he deserved their scorn. His hand brushed a puddle of water from where it had dripped down of the wall, but the slippery liquid remained him too much of blood.

He scrubbed his hand against his clothes but his hands were covered in sweat, only now as he saw them it looked like blood. He gagged managing to bring up a mouthful of slippery acid. His heart felt like it was going to explode he was shivering and soaked to the bone with sweat. He couldn't stop heaving, even though nothing else was coming up.

A scrapping sound off to his left drew his attention. But he moved away from the noise. He didn't want to see anymore. He didn't want to feel the guilt but it was tearing at him. He raised himself to his knees and ripped at his shirt tearing the fabric and sending buttons flying. He gouged his fingers into his chest and his arms. He screamed. Blood was running down his hands, his chest, his arms, he wanted the pain. He needed the pain, he wanted to destroy himself. Anything that offered redemption…He wanted to die.

"Max."

"Max!"

The sound was a voice this time. It was familiar and yet not. Max turned towards the noise. His vision seemed to be swimming, but sweat and tears blocked his vision, He rubbed a bloody hand across his face, momentarily clearing his vision.

A man was standing in the door way. Max stared at his uniform, he stared at the moustache above his lip and the perfectly fixed hair and then he raised himself off the ground.

The man spoke again, it was one word his name.

Max moved toward the man. He was aware of Isaac, Sarah, his mother, and all the other s watching behind him. He moved unsteadily towards the man but with determination. He would make them all proud, this one last fight and he would take down the man who had made him a murderer. He had to kill the man who had lead him to be the death of his entire family.

The man said Max's name again and Max replied with the man's name. "Führer" The word rasped from his parched lips like a challenge.

It was a sight, the leader of the Aryan nation standing, at his finest, perfectly fit and ready. And one trembling, weak, starving, feverish Jew. It was a fight for the decades, so unevenly matched and yet the rage of one of the fighters made up for the disparities of everything else.

Max managed to speak again, through his sore throat. It was a promise. "I'm going to kill you."

The Führer didn't speak except to say Max's name again, this time it sounded like a question. "Max?"

The word angered Max further, who was the man to think he could even speak to him, let alone say his name. The first punch felt right, it caught the man off guard. Max had a moment of satisfaction as he watched his head snap back and blood spout from his nose. Max followed through with an uppercut. Hitler dodged and Max let fly another punch. The Führer seemed daze and then he fought back. Max was too slow to dodge the fist aimed for his jaw and he fell back. The Führer pounced on him pinning him down.

Max could feel blood coating the back of his throat as it tricked from what would be another broken nose. He still fought even though he was pinned. Blood was becoming smeared across his chest as the Führer's blood mingled with the gouges Max had made in his own body. Finally a blow hit Max solidly in the temple, his vision dimmed. And as he lay there too dazed to fight back he finally noticed the words the Führer had continued to shout at him during their fight.

"Max stop this, you're going to get us caught!"

Max dragged his eyes opened and was shocked to see instead of the Führer holding him pinned down—the sweaty and bloody face of Walter Kuegel.

"W-Walter."Max could only stare in shock. Did this mean Walter was dead too. Had the Nazi's found out he was hiding a Jew and killed him for it? Max had to know what had happened, he had to know what else was his fault. "When did they kill you? I'm so sorry Walter, I—"

"I'm not dead."

The rest of Max's apology stuttered to a stop. "Y-you're not."

"No." Walter was staring at him like he had gone crazy. And maybe he had. Max flinched as Walter moved one of his hands hesitantly from where he was holding Max down and felt the other's man's forehead. "Damn it, what's wrong with you, you're burning up."

That at least Max had an answer for even if he didn't know why Walter wasn't accusing him like the other apparitions had. "I'm in hell."

The answer brought a laugh from Walter, though it was somewhat forced. "You're not in hell. You're sick."

"But the other's " Max paused trying to clear his head enough to figure out what was going on. "Isaac, Sarah, my mother they were telling me it was my fault and…"

Max trailed off as Walter stared at him, but it wasn't like he thought he was crazy, it was more like pity. "Max." Walter paused and glanced away before abruptly clearing his throat and turning back to stare at Max. "They weren't here okay? They're hiding somewhere else or..." Walter didn't finish the sentence, but Max knew what the last word would have been: dead.

Max turned away from Walter's stare as he felt his eyes burn and his throat thicken. Walter asked him. "Are we good now? Cause if you plan on pulling anything like a few minutes ago, I will knock your ass out, sickness or no sickness."

A half-laugh choked its way out of Max as he nodded. Walter eased his weight off and helped Max sit up. He gave a low whistle as he stared at the gashes ripped into Max's skin. "What were you trying to do?"

A half-hearted shrug was the only answer Walter got. He sat on his haunches for a few moments and watched the shivering Jew trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing he could think of that would make any difference. Finally he crossed to the bag he had dropped when Max had attacked him. He grabbed the sack and ventured closer to Max who did nothing to acknowledge his presence except staring dully at him with fever-glazed eyes. Walter carefully washed the cuts across Max's body with the jar of water he had brought and then ripped strips from the sack that had held the loaf of breath, but now would have to serve as bandages. He wordlessly passed over a change of clothes, silently grateful that he had decided to bring them, because over the stench of sickness seeping from Max pores he could smell that it wasn't only sweat that his trousers were damp with.

Minutes later Max had struggled into the cool clothes and was leaning against the wall gnawing on a piece of bread like a sick rat. Walter sat by his side and watched him bringing the food to his lips and mechanically chewing. He tried to avoid showing his own distaste at the odour wafting off the other man, or how he longed to be anywhere other than this squalid room, that was barely fit for vermin let alone a human. After all none of it was Max's fault.

Walter stared out at the chink of light peeking through the slight crack in the door and silently counted the minutes until he could work himself up to make an excuse and leave. A voice startled him from his thoughts it was pitiful and hoarse. "Thank you."

Walter almost didn't realize who had spoken; the voice was so unlike that of his friend. It was devoid of life, like the last gasp of a dying person. "I'm sorry for you know—attacking you and—"

"Stop Max."

He turned to find the Jewish man watching him, in the darkness. The silence stretched and them Walter spoke, trying to be cheerful. "It'll just be a little longer, I hear the allied forces are gaining ground and who knows in a few months maybe a year or so you'll be…"

"Dead." Max rasped out the words allowing the piece of bread to fall from his hands. He stared at Walter, "I can't do this any longer. I just want to see the sun, to smell fresh air."

"You can't –you'll—"

"Please Walter, I thought I wanted this. I thought I wanted to live—but this isn't life."

"Shut up Max, stop being ungrateful, you always were an ungrateful bastard." Walter ground out the words.

Max didn't stop. "They're all dead. I'm the only one left."

"You don't know that Max, okay? For all you know they managed to get away and—"

"You don't believe that, you don't." Max stared at Walter, his eyes were wet. "Please, I'll just leave, maybe go back home. They're dead all of them, why can't I—"

"Die too? Is that what you want?" Walter didn't allow Max to speak as he continued in a deadly low voice."Because if that's what you want I'll just kill you myself." Before he knew what he was doing Walter swung out catching Max in the side of his face in his already bruised jaw. His friend's head knocked against the wall as the blow landed, but other than a cut on the side of his face reopening, Max remained the same.

Blood trickled down his cheek, tears started to trickle down his face, but Max didn't make a sound. Walter stared at Max for a long moment until he couldn't bare the sight of his broken face any longer. Max whispered. "Walter, what do I have left? I haven't seen daylight in so long. I haven't talked to anybody before you in days. I live in the dark, by myself for days, and days. Nobody speaks to me, nobody touches me…I'm alone."

*****AN INTERRUPTION*****

**Most people think dying alone is the worst,**

**But they're wrong.**

**It's living alone .**

**Imagine every day, with nobody to share it with.**

**Then you know what it's like to die while you're alive.**

Walter didn't know what to say. But he couldn't very well allow Max to go off and basically walk to his death. "Max, you're staying here—"

"Please—"

"Listen to me, you're not in your right mind, you're sick and miserable and probably have no idea what you're saying—"

"Walter, I—"

"I—I'm not letting you go off and basically commit suicide , so just shut up for god's sake!"

Max stopped abruptly, the only sound was his rasping breath and Walter's.

Then Walter managed to compose himself enough to ask. "Listen, you said a while back that your mother gave you an address, somebody that you could go to who might take you in."

"Yes, but he won't care, he' probably a Nazi now."

"Just shut up, okay?" Walter paused, before asking. "Where's the paper."

There was a rustling as Max removed the crumpled piece from his pocket. Walter read the address. As he traced the words with his eyes he murmured almost to himself. "It's getting worse, anytime now they could find us out."

Walter brushed his hair back from his eyes and continued. "You can't stay here forever, this place is killing you. We don't know what might happen. I might get caught. You might need to find that place…I'm too scared to ask anyone for help here. They might put me in."

Walter turned back to Max meeting his eyes in the dark. "I'll go down there and find this man. If he's turned into a Nazi—which is very likely—I'll just turn around. At least we know then _richtig?_ "

Max nodded, it was a plan at least. Something to hold onto. But he didn't have much faith he was just saying it for Walter.

Walter sensed Max thinking. "Max you're not going to spend the rest of your life here and you're not going to die either."

Max nodded again, his eyes were still dull and whether from the fever or just hopelessness Walter couldn't tell and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He couldn't think of what else to say and instead wordlessly watched as Max grabbed the blanket Walter had brought and covered himself.

He twisted away so only his back could be seen and Walter sat there in the stark silence pretending he didn't hear the muffled sobs drowned in the blanket.

Finally it quieted and Walter wasn't sure whether Max had fallen asleep or merely tired himself out into feverish silence. In any case the other man was shivering slightly. Walter folded the scrap of paper into his pocket and then reached over and pulled the blanket farther up to cover Max more. After he had finished fixing the blanket his hand lingered.

He thought back to what Max had said. He thought about he would feel if the situation was reversed and he was the one stuck for days sometimes almost weeks, alone. He wondered would he at least be able to last as long as Max, or would he too want a way out. He already felt guilt for the resentment he was beginning to have for the Jewish man. He knew it was irrational, after all Max hadn't forced him to offer him a hiding place. But every time he had to sneak into the storeroom and give him part of his own rations or empty the bucket that held his waste. A flash of anger flared, before quickly being repressed by guilt.

It was guilt at being part of the country that made all this necessary, guilty for being a soldier in an army that was responsible for millions of deaths, guilt for even listening once to the man who had sowed the seeds of hate. The guilt from all that was crushing, how then would it be to feel the weight from the guilt of thinking—feeling that you had been at least partly responsible for your family's deaths by wanting to live yourself?

Walter settled near Max. They were both suffering, from choices they had made and those that others had made for them. But there was no need for them to be alone. At least not right now. Searching for the Hubermann fellow and the walk back to his own flat could wait, Walter decided.

He closed his eyes drifting off; his hand remained on Max's shoulder offering the only comfort he could give.

*****MY WORK*****

**I usually come to take the souls after the bodies have expired.**

**After all the shell is destroyed I can get at the bright soul within**

**But sometimes, it's the opposite.**

**The shell, the husk you call your body, may be intact**

**But that doesn't mean you haven't already died.**

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a little dark and trippy but hope you liked it and feedback is always welcome.


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